Insistence
by Dukki-chan
Summary: Dean's enjoyment of beer and bars leaves Sam a little more than confused after a tender exchange in the parking lot. What does "love" really mean, and how far can they go to express it? Beware!: WINCEST
1. Chapter 1

Sam Winchester had never felt more exhausted. Even after months of constant hunting, his body hadn't quite adjusted to the regular stress and sleep deprivation that came with the lifestyle.

His brother, on the other hand, had found the perfect solution to relieving this stress.

"Aw, man, that girl over there… Look at her. No, Sam,i _look/i_." Dean smirked and steered his brother's head in the direction of the lanky platinum blonde, model-type girl who was standing by the bar, all too aware that she was being watched. "Oh I could have some fun with her." Dean chuckled and grinned, nodding at the girl.

Sam rolled his eyes. In his opinion, the girl looked too much like Jessica. All the girls did nowadays. So, he would leave Dean to the thrill of his far more pleasurable hunt and in the mean time stick to his books and internet forums. He took a last, long sip of his beer and got to his feet.

"Well," he said, "I'm gonna leave you to it, then. Go ahead and take the car. I can walk back to the motel." With a halfhearted grin, he clapped Dean on the shoulder and went to the door. Sometimes it was like he and Dean were so alike, but all it took was some bimbo with breasts to prove that their priorities were on totally different ends of the spectrum.

"Hold on there, cowboy."

Sam felt an arm slide around his shoulders. Dean was grinning up at his brother as he leaned against him.

"What about Miss Thing over there?" Sam jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, where the girl at the bar was giving Dean some pretty heavy bedroom eyes that probably would have crippled the knees of lesser men.

Dean chuckled and steered Sam in the direction of the Impala. "Forget about it. I'm sure someone else will keep her company. Now let's get back and put little Sammy to bed, shall we?" The man laughed and yanked affectionately (but my no means gently) on Sam's ear.

"You're drunk." Sam pushed his brother away.

"Not all that drunk." Dean giggled softly as he patted down his pockets in search of the car keys. He staggered slightly and leaned against the side of the Impala.

Sam sighed and moved closer to his brother, afraid that the moron's efforts would end in a face-plant to the gravel. "You're not driving," he said firmly.

Dean scoffed. "The fuck I am. I'm i_not/i_ drunk."

"You're drunk enough." With careful, patient hands, Sam moved aside Dean's own fretfully flailing hands and reached into the back pocket of his brother's jeans. "I'm driving," he restated, jingling the keys in front of Dean's face.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Good to know you're not afraid to grope a drunk man."

"I did i_not/i_ grope you."

A small gasp escaped Sam's throat as he felt Dean's hand slip into his own back pocket and linger there. "Isn't this what you did? Where I come from, we call that molestation." Dean sniggered stupidly again.

Sam tried to shake Dean off, but even in spite of his brother's alcohol consumption, Dean proved to be the stronger one. He kept Sam pressed close to his chest.

"Do you know I love you, Sammy?" Dean said softly. His free hand wound itself around Sam's waist, pinning him there.

Sam struggled to get Dean off of him. This was beyond his level of comfort. The way Dean's arms captured him, straining to the point that Sam could feel every fissure of muscle as they fought to keep him still; the predatory, hungry look in Dean's grass green eyes - eyes that were too much like Sam's own.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Sam said amidst his struggles. All hope of patience was lost. There was only so much that a sleep-deprived Sam could handle.

"Just stand still for a second, asshole. I'm tryin' to tell you somethin' here." Dean's gaze grew fixed, intense, and commanding. Despite the taboo way in which he was holding his brother, and despite the lingering smell of beer on his breath, Dean was still able to employ the everlasting authority that came with being the big brother. "That's better," Dean said after Sam gave up his struggles along with his patience. Slowly he brought his hands to the sides of Sam's arms, grasping tight for a moment before moving to Sam's face, where the hold grew somehow more considerate and noticeably gentler. "I'll admit I'm a little drunk, so this might be the booze talking." Dean licked his lips for a moment, just looking up at his little brother while he searched for the words. "I love you, Sammy. I want to spend the rest of my life with you." A drunken, crooked grin came onto his face. They both knew how corny that had sounded, but given the circumstance (and Dean's slightly inhibited state), it appeared that they were both going to let it slide.

"Which in this business," Sam said, "might not be very long."

Dean sniggered. "See, I knew you were funny somewhere under that Oxford cloth."

Sam chuckled, not bothering to hide the roll of his eyes, and gently lifted Dean's hands from his face. "Let's go, ok? We have to leave for Detroit in the morning." He gave Dean's hands a squeeze and dropped them, going to the driver's side and opening the door.

"Don't you love me too, Sam?" Dean remained leaning against the car.

"Huh? Of course I do, man, now let's go."

Dean crossed his arms. "Say it, or I ain't movin'."

"C'mon, how many times can I be expected to say 'I love you' to a guy who puts itching powder in my boxer shorts?" Sam tried to crack a smile, but Dean's stance and his convictions remained firm. He was like a petulant child or stubborn woman; he knew what he wanted to hear and his hissy fit wouldn't be over until he did.

"Fine, Dean, I love you too."

Dean smirked, seemingly satisfied, and moved once again to get nearer to Sam. "Good," he said. Then, before Sam could suggest yet again that they leave, Dean kissed his brother full on the mouth.

Sam could neither move nor think. All he could do was feel. He felt Dean's hand at his chest, steadying himself for the kiss. He could feel the exhaustion deep in his muscles become entirely forgotten as his heart raced in confusion - this was not their usual kiss. It was too primal, too taboo for that. Sam could feel, too, the eyes of the suddenly quiet bar patrons behind them, stopping in their entrance to stare at the two men kissing under the street lamp of a middle-America, redneck town.

But above it all he could feel Dean's lips. These were the lips and this was the kiss that a dozen girls in a dozen different bars all over the country had imagined but never received. This was his brother. This was a kiss. Sam didn't know what to do with either.

Before Sam could develop any sort of response avenue, Dean pulled away. Without saying a word, he got into the passenger's side of the Impala, buckled himself in, and slumped his head against the glass. Right before Sam's wide eyes, he watched his brother's breathing slow as if he had fallen asleep.

"And he said he wasn't drunk," Sam grumbled. He flashed the stunned bar-goers a wave and got in the car before any of them could remember that they hated any sign of homosexuality enough to beat the perpetrators into goo.

The road before him was dark and half-hidden in overgrown trees and road kill carcasses, but on that night, the drive back to the motel made more sense to Sam Winchester than did anything that had just transpired in the past ten minutes.


	2. 2 Temperance

Watching the sun rise through road-dust covered windows, smelling a familiarly lingering odor of fast food, gas station coffee, and leather seats, Sam Winchester twisted his sore neck gingerly, trying to work out the kinks that can only be earned by spending over four hours asleep against a car door.

"Where are we?" he groaned, putting one hand to his shoulder as he rolled it experimentally; there was one muscle in particular that he could already tell would be giving him trouble for quite some time.

Dean blinked rather hard, as if trying to stave of sleep for at least another few miles. "Just out of Chicago," he said. He cleared his throat, the sound coming gruff and phlegmy. "Shit, man, I've gotta find us a hotel."

"Now? Dude, the sun just came up." Sam ran a hand over his face, yawning, and blinked hard against the fresh sunlight of the day. "Just pull over. I'll drive and you can sleep."

"Ha! Right. You're, uh, you're a funny guy, Sammy. Like I'm gonna sleep in the car." Dean's chortling was interrupted by one hell of a yawn. He made a quick left and pulled into the empty parking lot of a Travelodge. "Go on and get us a room."

Sam sighed - it was impossible reasoning with Dean sometimes. If the eldest Winchester brother wanted to sleep in a warm bed, then dammit, he iwould/i. "What are we? Vampires, now? When's the last time we saw the sun?" Sam muttered loudly enough for Dean to hear, but nevertheless grabbed his wallet and went inside to purchase a room for the night. Odds were that no one would even be awake to igive/i them a room, but after all, Princess Dean demanded it.

Dean remained in the Impala, using the thought of a real bed as motivation to stay awake. As he watched Sam in the motel office (waiting patiently for the innkeeper to pull on his robe and assist him), a small smile came onto Dean's face. It had been two days of nonstop driving since their tender exchange in the parking lot of a nameless bar back in Hicksville, and neither brother had said a word about it. Displays of such affection - typically going no further than hugs and brotherly "I love yous" - were not uncommon between the two. But that night, aided by Dean's tipsy state, neither he nor Sam could insist that their kiss, their touches, were purely innocent. There had been something strange about that night (be it the fact that Dean turned down a gorgeous woman for sex, or that Sam had allowed his older brother to rest his hands in his back pockets). Now they were locked in the Impala until they got to Detroit, and neither of them could forget about the elephant making itself comfortable between the two of them.

"Alright, come on, we've got Room Two," said Sam as he tapped on the windshield. There was a set of keys in his hand, and his bag was already slung around his arm. Maybe Dean had dozed off, after all; he hadn't even noticed Sam's return.

The motel room was typical. Beige carpet, two queen-sized beds, a little bathroom, a mini-fridge. The boys threw their bags against the wall and collapsed into bed without even changing their clothes.

"This drive's been a bitch," Dean said, voice muffled by the pillow he had landed in.

Sam chuckled and rolled onto his back, one arm slinging over his eyes. "Tell me about it. This job better be a good one - I think I'll go nuts if it's a hoax."

"Yeah but then we'll just have more time to spend having fun for once." Dean smirked as he sat up enough to remove his shirt, and then flopped back into bed, this time facing his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Is that all you think about? Booze and girls?"

"Yeah, that and keeping your ass safe," Dean said, "which I think warrants me a little fun now and again."

"Yeah, whatever." Sam kicked off his shoes. "Just don't go getting all mushy next time you get hammered, ok?"

So there it was - finally, Sam had acknowledged it out loud. If only Dean knew how much Sam had struggled with trying to fit it into conversation, trying to find out Dean's thoughts on the matter, trying to decide if the fire that he had felt in the kiss had also touched his brother. Sam hid his anxiousness for Dean's reaction behind the removal of his button-up shirt.

"You're taking about the other night?" Dean chuckled dryly and bit at his fingernail. "I wouldn't say I got imushy/i."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Do you even remember that night?"

iCourse I do. I haven't stopped thinking about it, idiot,/i Dean thought.

"No," he said, "not all of it."

Sam laughed with much of the same humorless desperation that Dean had managed moments ago. "Well, do you remember the fact that you molested me? I swear, I never pegged you as a handsy drunk."

"Handsy!" Dean laughed. "I think you're being a little - what's the word? - hyperbolic, here, Sammy."

"Hyperbolic, eh? Wow, Dean, I'm impressed. Been reading something other than pornos lately, have you?"

The shoe that hit Sam in the stomach was thrown with just the right amount of force as to make the poor guy cough and curl in on himself.

"Little bitch," Dean said, grumbling. He tossed his other shoe against the wall and lay back down. "All I'm sayin' is that I iremember/i what happened, and I didn't get ihandsy/i."

"I won't even mention that kiss, then," Sam muttered. He turned on his side, away from Dean, and closed his eyes, ready for sleep.

That was it for Dean. Hearing the actual word and the implications behind it leave Sam's mouth, left no option than to get up out of bed and kick Sam so hard in the back that he fell out of bed and onto his face.

"The fuck! Dean, what the fuck, man!" Sam tried to right himself, attempting to clamber back onto the bed, but Dean's weight on his middle kept him pinned. Both of his arms were entrapped and forced above his head. Dean drew so close that Sam could feel his brother's heavy breathing against his cheek.

"You little shit," Dean said, barely loud enough to hear. "Why'd you have to go and say it?"

"Say iwhat/i! You're the one that kissed ime/i, remember?" Sam struggled against Dean's hold. He felt twelve years old, being pinned down in the mud and made to stay there until Dean had finished lecturing him about keeping himself safe. Only this time, Dean seemed more likely to hurt than to protect. The anger in the elder's eyes was startling; Sam typically only saw that kind of aggression from Dean on a hunt.

"I told you I love you," Dean said.

"Yeah, so what?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow suggestively, as if Sam were too dimwitted to catch the hint. "I thought that you'd get it by now. That wasn't exactly our first kiss, y'know."

Sam could only blink. "Yeah, but we're brothers. A-aren't brothers allowed to do that?" He knew that Dean could feel his pounding heart rate. It would be hard to miss, given that Dean was pressing his fingers tightly into his wrist. As much as Sam wanted to believe that this conversation was taking the turn that he suspected, he was wary to get so optimistic. Dean wasn't the type. He liked girls. A ilot/i. The countless condom wrappers found in the back seat of the Impala were enough to prove that. So why the determined look in Dean's eye? Why the talk of kisses and love?

"Sammy," Dean said, drawing close to Sam's ear, "listen up 'cause I don't really wanna say this again." His gaze grew distant for a moment. Sam could see him lingering on indecision. The subtle way which Dean bit his lip, trying to take the chance, made Sam want to smile. So he did.

"I already know, Dean."

"What?" Dean's eyes widened slightly. His grip grew slightly looser on Sam's wrists.

"I iknow/i what you're going to say." Sam smirked.

"So you…"

"Yeah."

"And you want to…?" Dean chuckled nervously.

"Yeah." Sam's smirk widened.

"Well holy shit."

"That's all you're going to say?"

"I think so."

That was all that needed to be said, in the end. There was no clumsy profession of deeper love than goes with brotherhood, no awkward discussion of taboo and moral righteousness. There was only two men who had never known how to love another person the way they loved each other, and that was enough.

Dean released Sam's hands as their kiss gathered momentum. Lips that were once careful and unsure grew confident in desire of dominance. Dean remained on top of Sam, hands diving under his brother's shirt and hips moving in an utterly tantalizing, unintentional rhythm that quickly caused both men to break the kiss and breathe large gulps of air for fear of blacking out. Their eyes met and locked as Dean's hands continued to roam his little brother's body - the rippling muscle and familiar skin that bore scars from shared, unforgettable experience caused Dean to feel the desire to see and feel it all. Sam's shirt was quickly thrown aside to leave a path for Dean's eager mouth.

"W-wait," Sam said. "We should get back on the bed. I-I don't want this to happen on the floor."

Dean groaned, annoyed to have to remove his lips from Sam's skin for even a moment. "Fine, have it your way." He got to his feet and offered his hand down to Sam, helping him up. "Damn," he muttered, looking up at Sam. "What kind of little brother are you when you're like the fucking Jolly Green Giant?"

Sam laughed and drew closer to Dean, kissing the man's forehead, nose, and finally his lips. "Guess that means I'm on top, right?" he said, still a breath away from Dean's lips.

"Fuck no, bitch." For the second time that night, Dean kicked Sam - only this time it was to the aim of getting him iinto/i bed rather than out of it. Sam fell heavily into Dean's bed, looking surprised. Dean pushed Sam back against the mattress, going immediately for the man' pants. "Like I'd ever let you top me," he muttered.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Always the macho man."

"Got that right, darlin'." Dean threw aside Sam's pants and moved to shed his own. "You're pretty damn hard, huh?" He put his hand to Sam's groin, where an impressive bulge was making itself known.

"So are you." Sam grinned and sat up to put his hands on either of Dean's hips. He could feel the strong muscles of Dean's legs and he shifted, suddenly nervous, from foot to foot. "Maybe I should take care of it for you?" Sam hooked his fingers into the waistband of Dean's boxer-briefs and began to tug them down.

Dean felt his face grow hot with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. It was one thing to kiss your brother, to touch him, but somehow it was a different matter entirely to discuss the intense erections that one held for the other, and again another to suggest relieving those erections. How could they do this? After all that they had accomplished together, and in light of all the goals they still intended to see fulfilled, how could they be together like this and still manage those things? To carry out what they intended would change them, possibly destroy them. Dean didn't want that - he thought he had, but he didn't, after all.

"Stop, Sammy."

Sam paused. He was a fraction of an inch away from revealing all of Dean, and those last few bits of unseen skin were driving him mad with anticipation. "What is it?" he said impatiently.

"We can't do this." Dean gently pried Sam's hands from his hips and backed away, holding up his hands. "I love you, Sammy, I do, but I didn't think…"

"You didn't think it'd get this real," Sam said, voice low and unmistakably disappointed.

Dean sighed. "Right. How'd you know?"

Sam laughed once, the sound coming out a tad bitter. "Because I'm your brother, which is incidentally the same reason you're backing out."

"I'm sorry, Sammy." For a moment, Dean lingered on the spot, ready to add something else, but backed down. He grabbed his pants, his shirt, and his bag, and headed for the door.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Sam snapped, getting to his feet.

Dean pulled on his pants, still facing the door, unwilling to look his brother in the eye (or anywhere else, for that matter). "I'm gonna go sleep in the Impala. We'll keep heading for Detroit tomorrow as planned." Soon fully dressed, Dean slipped outside, leaving Sam alone.

It looked like Dean was going to sleep in the car, after all.


End file.
